


Take Her Out

by lizthefangirl



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bellarke, Canon Compliant, F/M, Spec, mama bear clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 05:17:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14993627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizthefangirl/pseuds/lizthefangirl
Summary: 5.08 speculation. Bellamy and Clarke finally have their confrontation.





	Take Her Out

Her expression remained blank as she stalked through the corridors of the bunker, his footfalls close behind. 

She had kept her eyes on him as she relayed the message, seen the muscles in his back tighten as she presented her ultimatum to Diyoza. She hadn't waited for the woman's response, clicking off the radio and setting it back on the work table, ignoring Monty and Harper's stunned faces before taking her leave. Every other thought was Octavia's arm clasped around Madi's in a dangerous accord, her hand so casually on the child's shoulder afterwards. Her shifting expression as she oversaw child soldiers to-be in combat from her tyrant's throne. 

"Clarke, wait." 

She halted at last in front of a sordid storage room she'd scouted earlier, having searched it for any sort of bug (no pun intended.) She hauled the heavy metal door back and slipped inside, a dim fluorescent light flickering at the movement. Dusty towers of crates pressed against every wall, the concrete floor faintly damp. He ducked inside and sealed the door, an urgency in his eyes—

"I don't expect you to be okay with this," she said flatly. "For the record, I don't plan on killing her. Just displacing her from the throne." 

Doubt flashed across his face, and she ground her teeth. "How the hell are you supposed to do that?" 

"With caution," she quipped.

His hands clenched and relaxed as he waited, jaw tightening. "You're not telling me the plan?"

 _Together together together_ _—_

She crossed her arms. "You're a little more than biased, Bellamy."

"Don't do that," he hissed. "Don't act like I don't understand what she's doing, that her being my sister makes it okay. It doesn't, Clarke. I agree, she needs to be stopped. But—"

"I can't risk her safety," she cut in, equally low. "Not for anything or anyone. Madi is my family, and Octavia is yours. I can't trust that you will do everything it takes to protect Madi from her."

He stared at her, something starting to burn in his dark eyes. She glanced away on instinct, though that emotion still surfaced as he spoke. "What you mean is I won't be willing to let her die, if it comes to that. But you will."

"If it's her or Madi," Clarke breathed, too even, "then I've already made my choice."

He fell silent for a long moment, the dank air hanging heavy around them. "I can't blame you for that." 

She looked at him in quiet surprise, finding his face drawn. The harsh light revealed exhausted features—ones she had traced with crude sticks of charcoal countless times. She had been distantly relieved when she first saw him again, equally addled with exhaustion, to discover that her barren memory had not completely dissolved the lines of that face. She had yet to grow completely used to seeing him again; though sometimes, she almost was. Almost forgot the years apart with a certain twist of his mouth or crinkling of his eyes.

But then: _Madi. Diyoza. Blodreina._

 _Echo_.

"My sister is dangerous," he continued, oblivious to her meditation. "Though, I'm not completely sure what she wants with Madi." A crooked, forlorn smile. "For all the time we spent around the Grounders, I'm still a little confused by their lore. But the nightblood and the Commander, if it means what I think. . . Does it make Madi a threat?"

"The biggest that Octavia will ever face," Clarke confirmed. "The fact that Madi's a child won't mean anything, not to the members of the clan who still believe in the Commander's bloodline, or to Octavia." She shook her head, loosing a frustrated sigh. "I don't want any of this for Madi. It's not fair, it shouldn't have to be her life. I've been trying to make her hide it all this time, and today in the pit, she—she didn't listen. Showed too much. And Octavia knows something, maybe not exactly what she is yet, but enough to want her as her Second in battle."

His eyes widened. "What, she. . . asked for your permission?"

"It wasn't a real choice," she muttered, wiping at her brow. "And Madi already agreed on her own. She doesn't understand—or isn't concerned enough with risking her life to lay low. I couldn't say no without revealing too much. Any direct interference will be too dangerous."

Bellamy studied her, intently enough that she broke his gaze again, her troubled expression unfeigned. "So Madi wants to fight. I know she can; made it pretty clear when we first met."

Clarke didn't return his private grin. "Of course I trained with her. She wasn't. . . unexperienced, even when I met her. Not remotely controlled, but not defenseless either." Clarke cleared her throat, trying for an easy tone as she went on, "It's not like she's just naturally violent, or wants to hurt people. Her wanting to fight comes from a. . . noble place. A disillusioned one."

He raised his brows. "Where did she get that from?"

It was intended as a light remark, she knew. He wouldn't be surprised to know she had told stories, not with his own affinity for mythology that he had passed to his sister. He probably wouldn't even bat an eye when he discovered Clarke's tales to Madi were derived from her own reality, one he himself had occupied.

But it was so. . . twisted, the way things had turned out with Madi's admiration of Octavia, after such a gruesome evolution. Perhaps it was foolish for Clarke to blame herself for where the child now stood, for she hadn't remotely suspected Blodreina's uprising. And she had tried—desperately—to protect Madi since she'd discovered Octavia's true nature, and the threat the young nightblood poised. 

And yet, she had been guiding every step Madi took for six years, regardless of her budding independence. She had raised her, by any definition, in spite of not being her biological family. They did share blood, in a way, a fact they'd often mentioned over the years, another affirmation of their bond under their impossible circumstances. 

She wouldn't explain it all to him—couldn't. And that broke a very particular something inside of her, a place he had remained for six years after she lost him. She wanted to explain. She wanted to tell him that she already  _had_ told him so much. But that would be for herself alone, not for him. 

He rumbled a cough. "I didn't mean. . ."

She blinked rapidly, finding furious moisture in her eyes. "I have to tell Wonkru who Madi is. They might be the only real protection she can have, because I'm not enough anymore. I know how it has to happen for them to believe it." She drew a breath, meeting his eyes. "But you already know that Octavia isn't going to back down. . . I would rather share that Valley with Diyoza and have her men then go to war with Octavia with no one on our side. Maybe when they discover who Madi is, a coup from within Wonkru will take care of Octavia on its own, but that seems unlikely. The bottom line," she sighed, "is that we've seen who she is now. We've seen her act. She might get herself killed; and if she does, that's  _not_ on you. You hear me?" 

Just like that, she lost him. His face shuttered. He couldn't seem to compute a response, and she couldn't afford to hear one when he did. So she barreled onwards, because it was like six years ago on the mezzanine in Becca's lab:

He needed to hear this. 

"You have to face who she has become, Bellamy. You have to know how it might end, and you cannot let that break you. Heart and  _head._ Use it. I know she might not have had a choice in the beginning about who she needed to become, but what about after that? She's approved of sending a parasite to destroy the only viable place left to live on this planet, and slaughter our friends in the process. She's already told you that she will consider you an enemy if you speak out against Wonkru. She will kill _my_   _child_ to keep her damned control over these people. If it were anyone else— _anyone_ else—threatening Madi, I wouldn't have hesitated this long to put this into action. She's your sister, and I loved her, too, Bellamy. But that girl who stepped off the dropship, who hid under the floor and loved Lincoln, is dead." She swallowed against the thickness in her voice. "She's dead, Bellamy. And I hate it. And I'm sorry, but this has to end somehow. It has to. And she might be too stubborn to survive it."

He had half-staggered backwards, both hands running through his hair. He was already shaking his head before she was finished. "We don't know how this will end. This isn't like your—your  _vision_ at Praimfaya." That fissure in her chest split further at the memory—the fact that he remembered—

"You can't tell me it's not a possible outcome," she countered, stifling the rising emotions. 

"You think I haven't thought of it?" he bellowed, veins bulging in his throat. "You think it hasn't kept me up at night since we dropped into that pit and saw her looking like she'd grown out of the walls?"

She closed her eyes, struck by a memory of her own at his tone.  _You left_   _me,_ he'd strained at Arkadia, shadows under his eyes.  _You left everyone._  . .

Then, many months after:  _She'll see_ _how special you are._

He'd fought for Octavia's life for practically all of his own. 

_Every stupid thing you did, it was for your sister._

He had snuck onto a prisoner's ship for her.

_She didn't always see that—_

Clarke imagined what it would be like—to leave Madi behind for six years, and find her in such a state.

_—but I did._

"I don't want to kill her," she said earnestly. "And I will do what I can to avoid it coming to that, Bellamy. But I am not letting her hurt Madi, or our friends, or anymore innocent people who try to defect. Will you help me stop that from happening?"

There it was. The impossible choice. She willed herself to look at him, to hone the palpating beneath her ribs, dread like a lethal frost over her skin. 

"You know I will," he said, hoarse. 

She stared at him, blinking against her tears. 

"But Clarke. I can't let her die if she's still in there." He shook his head slightly. "I can't."

"If that ends up being the case," she said softly, "then we won't let that happen, either."

He bobbed his chin, his eyes shining a bit. Their shared relief was palpable. And so was. . . another nameless  _something_  that existed in the space between them. It was what never let her hold his gaze for too long. It was writhing as his hand landed on her arm, a reflex. She caught the small wrinkle between his brows as he hesitated for an instant before giving her a light squeeze, then stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Should we, uh, talk details?"

"Absolutely," she answered smoothly, adding with a wrinkled nose, "After supper?" 

He smiled—really smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"I need to check on something, first," she said. "Could you go fill in Monty and Harper on Madi's situation?"

Bellamy nodded, easily hiding the hint of disdain at her lack of further explanation; he was as eager to maintain this semi-normative peace as she was. She offered him a hopeful smile, letting him open the door for her after scanning the hall. She had barely crossed the threshold when he rasped, "'Til then, Princess."

Her feet faltered. He seemed to experience something similar, for her old nickname was slightly choked off at the last syllable. She forced herself to remain blasé as she peered over her shoulder. "Will I ever advance in rank?" 

The subtle apprehension vanished in his eyes, his shoulders relaxing as he noncommittally quipped, "Tough political climate."

She rolled her eyes and continued down the hallway, though sound of the door closing came a little too late. 

As she made a left, she carefully counted off the lies behind their exchange; some were unspoken to the point that they might not technically be lies, but the traces of chagrin they left behind were similar enough.

The first lie was about his sister, regarding the possibility of any of her old self remaining. Clarke had reassured him of this prospect, yet knew with hardened certainty that it was a hapless gesture. Every fiber of her that read Octavia found whispers of madness, manipulation, and death. He wasn't completely oblivious to it, but might not be able to fully face it on his own. 

The second lie was that she would do anything to see Octavia taken down. With the same certainty as before, she knew she would readily die defending some things. Many of those things had names and faces. Of course there was Madi, even her mother in her horrible state; but there was also Bellamy. Bellamy, who might give into that heart of his, even after coming so far as a leader. Who might threaten himself, risk himself on a battlefield in a desperate attempt to capture sister's attention. It wasn't just his life that Clarke refused to risk, but his soul.

However Octavia met her end. . . He would not be near it. She wouldn't allow it—even if it meant doing the deed herself. Better he hate her, be unable to look at her ever again, than feel responsible. He had clearly healed over the loss of Clarke. . . but she was unsure how he would handle his sister's death in the long term.

Clarke approached a door to a lab, wielding Monty's magnet, which she had swiped from the floor when they'd entered the Worm Room. She slid the lock back.

The third lie had come much earlier. It wasn't just to him, but to many others, especially his sister. And it was one that a ravenous part of her hoped would be discovered.

It was true that she had trained Madi. But _t_ _rained_ was a drastic understatement.

Twice, then three times a week, then  _daily_  for nearly six years, the two taught each other all they knew of combat. And what they didn't know, they learned, albeit in an unorthodox manner. Clarke had gone from barely being deft with a gun to being able to disarm the skilled young warrior with only a dagger. Or an empty rifle. Or a length of rope. Every skill one perfected, the other matched. Both were swordsmen. Sharpshooters. Hunters. Warriors—and above all, family.

When she told Bellamy she didn't want to kill Octavia, he hadn't heard the truth behind her words—the capability. She would prefer to practice with someone her own size, but she could probably make the adjustments without it. 

The low hum in her ears at the thought of meeting Octavia in combat went against much of the code of honor she'd tried to impress upon Madi. But she would do it, if she had to. She would protect her family.

She scanned the shelves of bottles, reading the labels carefully until she located what she sought:  _trichloromethane **—**_ or chloroform. She placed a mask over her nose as a precaution, steadily measuring out the colorless fluid into an empty glass vial—one of hundreds, only a few still neatly packed in boxes.

The final lie was merely an unfinished truth:  _Madi_ _is my family and Octavia is yours._

"You're my family, too, Bellamy," Wanheda breathed, tucking away her prize.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @April_Le_ on Twitter for some very insightful speculation, some of which appears above. Comments are ever welcome. These fics are becoming routine after each episode, I guess. I think it lowkey helps me deal with however the episodes pan out to get my own speculation written down first! By the way, the chloroform is implied in the 5.08 trailer.
> 
> Update 6/30: Lowkey dying because I tagged "mama bear clarke" prior to the canon line. Like hire me??


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